


light

by ohworm (owolivia)



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mild Gore, Panic Attacks, Pre-Canon, language too, rated for slight gore and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:01:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29478120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owolivia/pseuds/ohworm
Summary: Because really, she can’t imagine what she’d do if Minerva wasn’t there to bring her spirits up every time.
Relationships: Minerva/Violet (Walking Dead: Done Running)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	light

**Author's Note:**

> my entry for the reddit february 2021 contest! the theme was "love" and i did a few lil scenes with vi n min to kinda show the close bond between them n some stuff inbetween.

“Tenn is running out of paint,” Minerva says at some point as they’re bent over the river, checking the traps and chucking the poor fish into buckets with a gentle thump. The strands of hair she pushed behind her ear are falling back into her face, slipping past her shoulders as she pulls out the tiny cage they set up, sleeves rolled back. Violet follows her lead, pulls out the other one and tries not to look for too long, but she can’t stop herself from staring at the friendship bracelet on Minerva’s wrist. It’s all wet now, some of the colored yarn Violet put into it faded into a way less saturated green. 

It’s been years now, since she made them. Years since she was hunched over her desk after long days of classes, braiding together the long strands of yarn the art teacher let her have, pulling small little fake jewels onto them. Her deep blue bracelet, Minerva’s faded spruce green one and then Sophie’s, bright neon pink. 

She thinks back to Tenn, spending his ways drawing away at the picnic tables, a smile on his face as he draws over paper after paper. “Not surprised. Should we go out again? See if we can find anything?” Her hands avoid the exposed, sharp wires of the cage as she takes the fish out, cringing at their slimy surface as they land in the bucket with the others. At least Minerva’s presence made it more tolerable.

They set the cages back, let them drown in the clear river water, ready to catch again. Violet shakes the water off, watches as the falling droplets create ripples in the water. Listens to the subtle sound the splashes make. “Think so. He won’t tell me directly, but I know he wants us to go.” She catches Minerva’s eyes as they grab the buckets, ignoring the rust that embraces the cool steel. Minerva smiles at her, holds her hand out and smiles wilder as Violet takes it, mirroring her grin. “It’d be fun, wouldn’t it? You’ve barely left the walls recently.” 

“I go out,” Violet defends herself, feigning a look of hurt until her voice gives away her amusement. She squeezes her hand, smile returning to her face. “I just like the greenhouse more. It’s quiet there. And it smells nice.”

“Oh, yes,” she looks away, her eyes sparkling with entertainment as she drips sarcasm into her voice. “I completely understand. I, too, am an enthusiast of the humid and suffocating air inside the greenhouse, and the quiet buzzing of every bug ever as they plan to feast on me.”

“Shut up,” Violet huffs, laughing softly. “My god. Shut up. That’s not true.”

Minerva lets go of her hand and sneaks it around her shoulders instead, pulling her close, laughing. “Of course it’s not, Vi. I’m pulling this all out of my imagination.” Her hair tickles Violet’s face, and she’s slightly jealous of how fast it grows. They cut it to her shoulders not that many weeks ago, and it’s back to her shoulder blades again. “I believe you.”

“It’s not that humid! You never go in there, anyway. You wouldn’t know.”

“Right.” 

Then Minerva sees a flower - the first one they’ve seen since winter hit - and her bucket falls to the ground, clanging loudly as she reaches down and picks it. She doesn’t look at the fish on the grass when she turns back. Her hand reaches out, brushes a strand of Violet’s hair behind her ear, and she places the flower there, bright green stem disappearing in her blonde hair. “I missed doing that.” 

Violet looks at her with fondness and lifts her hand up, laying it over Minerva’s that lingers on her cheek. “Thanks,” she says quietly, smiling bright as Minerva smiles back, kissing her sweetly.

|

The next time Violet lets Minerva talk her into leaving the walls, they go fishing again. It’s Minerva’s favorite chore to do, or Violet assumes so, given how happy she seems when she tells stories about their old family fishing boat. 

“Sophie always wanted the colorful lures, the ones that barely worked,” she says as they sit on the bridge, “God, she used to be so pissed when I’d choose the worms.” 

“I can picture it,” Violet swings her legs back and forth above the water, a smile threatening to break out on her face. “All cranky, like we woke her up before nine on weekends.” 

“Exactly! And she’d cry to make dad- to make _me_ feel bad.” Minerva stabs the spear into the water and brings up a fish. She watches the blood trickle down the sharp edge and into the river. She pushes it into the bucket. “God, waking her up early on weekends. I miss that. Hours before we were called to have breakfast.”

Violet looks at her, worry seeping into her gaze at the hurt that dances in Minerva’s eyes. “God, that was so long ago.” 

There’s a silence that Violet can’t bring herself to break. Nerves seep into her legs, her hands shaking on the edge of the bridge, eyes blinking. “Yeah.” She says quietly. 

Fish fill the bucket fast after that. They don’t seem to think too much, as they effortlessly let themselves be caught and tossed in with the others. Violet waits outside, leaning against the wooden railing while Minerva puts away the spears. She looks up into the sky, watches the clouds pass and reveal a bright blue sky. 

|

Violet goes out a little more now. Not only with Minerva, but with Aasim, too - they get along pretty well, for the most part. She joins Marlon on a trip here and there, and she finds herself enjoying Erin’s company, too. Not for long, God, she couldn’t stand others for long, but it was enough. 

But it’s always different with others. Because with others, she rolls this way and that, enjoying her bed until Marlon bangs on her door and threatens to convince Ms. Martin to take away her greenhouse chores if she doesn’t get up. She’s quiet, she zones out, she gets the chore done and hurries to get back inside. And then she stays in bed, reading books or making things until Minerva returns and they read together, or they go to the bell tower and watch the clouds and stars, or they sneak off into the office and vandalize Ericson’s Phd’s.

Maybe Minerva was right. She needs to put herself out there more. Because really, she can’t imagine what she’d do if Minerva wasn’t there to bring her spirits up every time.

| 

They don’t see the walker until it’s too late. 

It hits a stone, tumbles as its rotten hand grabs a fistful of Minerva’s hair and drags her back, and she stabs a knife into the walker’s neck instinctively, but the blood sprays everywhere and they fall to the ground before Violet even knows anything happened. 

She gets it - of course she gets it, she would never forgive herself if she didn’t fucking get it - and the dropped buckets of fish are long forgotten as Violet takes Minerva’s hands, brushes her hair back, pulls her to her feet. 

“Fuck,” she cries, wiping the blood from her hair, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even see it. It didn’t make a sound.”

It went wrong so fast.

“Hey, hey, Min, look at me,” she gently cups her face, looks at her eyes that are shut tight. “It’s over now. It’s okay, it’s dead.”

Minerva’s eyes don’t open, but she cries, breathes quickly. “I know. I know. I- I didn’t even think- I wasn’t even thinking.”

“It’s okay,” Violet repeats, and her voice breaks, because she’s never been good at this, never really knew how to comfort people. She sits them down on the ground, wipes away her tears. “You’re fine.”

“I stabbed them without thinking,” Minerva says breathlessly, and the second her eyes open, they meet Violet’s. “I’m just so used to it.”

She makes sure she has her attention and breathes slowly to demonstrate, waiting until their breaths matched and Minerva’s tears dried. “I know.”

The topic isn’t foreign. Violet remembers how they talked about this before. _If I get used to this, if this becomes the new normal, how can we ever go back to the way it was?_ Her eyes sting. 

Right as it’s all over, when the surroundings stop buzzing and Minerva’s panic dies, she hugs Violet tight, hiding her face from the rest of the world in her skin. VIolet doesn’t know how long they stay that way, but she brings her hand to Minerva’s hair and runs it through the strands over and over again, noting how long it’s gotten. 

“We should cut your hair soon.”

A shaky sob echoes in Violet’s ears. “Yeah.”

|

Old houses were disgusting now. With no-one to keep them pretty and tend to them, the moss grew and grew and took over most structures that still stood, bringing them down over time. The rain seeped into the cracks and mold embraced the decay, making runs much harder. The gross smell of rotting wood and decaying bodies wouldn’t die down, not even with a mask.

“Fucking gross,” Violet exclaims as her boot gets buried in a dead carcass, indistinguishible from the other disgusting things littered across the swamp-ish environment. Her voice is muffled through the scarf she has wrapped around her mouth and tied at her neck, barely heard in the abandoned house.

Minerva’s laughter however carries through, a melody in Violet’s ears as the momentary banter distracts her from how gross this place was. “I thought you were tough and strong, Vi. Where’d the confidence go? I thought you wanted to impress me with how brave you are.”

Her cheeks flush, not that it’s visible, and she hides her embarrassment behind a lighthearted “shut up”. Marlon’s tuning them out at this point. Minerva continues laughing. “You’re adorable.”

“I swear, I’m going to leave,” he says, his own voice hardly recognizable through the fabric. “I fucking hate thirdwheeling. Why did I agree to this? What the fuck have I ever done to you?”

She ignores him. “There should be paint here, right? It looks pretty artistic.” 

“Maybe,” Marlon stomps off and hurries up the first flight of stairs that he sees. Violet snorts.

Minerva turns to Violet, pulls down her scarf and reveals her grin. The kind she wore during Louis’ card games. “First one to find paint is the winner.”

Violet looks at her and pulls down her own scarf to expose her unimpressed frown. “If you make this into a competition, I’m sleeping in my room tonight. That’s a threat.” 

It does nothing to knock down her enthusiasm, and it rubs off on Violet, as it always does. She kind of wants to win, now. “Running through this decaying house sounds like an excellent waste of our time. Trust me, Vi! It’ll be fun.”

“Marlon’s never going to come with us after this,” she glances at the upstairs, amusement seeping into her voice. “You know that, right?”

Minerva looks at her for a moment, gaze softening. She puts away her knife and reaches over, cupping Violet’s cheek as she leans in for a kiss, the decaying house disappearing from their minds for a second. As Violet opens her eyes, looks into Minerva’s and sees the admiration shining like stars in her eyes, she sorta forgets the walkers exist, too. 

Minerva smiles, brings her hand back and readies her knife again. “Good. He’s kinda annoying, anyway.”


End file.
